


The Ice Queen Cometh

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jon and Sansa are SKINT, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Modern AU, Sex Tape, The other starks died and Sansa is an orphan, but this is light-hearted...I PROMISE!, strapped for cash, very loosely based on Zack and Miri Make a Porno but with different character dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-24 18:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: “Why on earth would we want all those idiot’s email addresses?” Jon asked, completely bewildered.Theon twisted in his seat once more, pointing at Jon with the paper in his hand. “You know, for a clever guy, you’re not that savvy.” He shook his head, “This list is who you sell your fuck tape to, numbnuts!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wightjon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wightjon/gifts).



> A birthday gift for Elizabeth (delivered in half with this half being early because I don't think I can finish it on time)! I hope that you enjoy it luv!
> 
> NOTES: Lyanna was not related to the Starks, she died when Jon was in his late teens and he does not kn ow who his father is. WARNING: Sansa is an orphan in this, but that is not the focus of this fic
> 
> Sort of based on Zack and Miri make a Porno (but with different character dynamics)

“Remind me why we have to go to this thing again?” Jon called out to Sansa as she was rushing around their tiny shared apartment.

“Because I’ve got a point to prove!”

Jon huffed, deciding to move over to where the kettle was boiling in their little kitchenette, cupping the heated appliance in his already gloved hands. He sighed in relief when the warmth started to penetrate through the thick wool that Sansa had knit together for him. “What are yo trying to prove? That years of studying and perfecting your novel have gotten you precisely jack-shit outta life?”

To say that Jon was not looking forward to attending the Winterfell High Class of 2007 reunion would be a sore understatement. Never setting foot inside that cursed building again, or having to breathe in the same space as his classmates would be perfectly fine by him. School life had not been kind to Jon, what with being the son of a single mother who struggled to make ends meet, but also fairly studious too. He seemed to walk around with a giant imaginary target painted on his back and he was never one to back down from a fight. He should have grit his teeth to bear the taunts because in the end, his outbursts against his tormenters had got him suspended one too many a time for his educational record to be looked upon favourably. Thus, extinguishing his plans at gaining a college scholarship and getting _the_ _fuck_ out of this town to make a better life for himself.

Instead, he finds himself at a dead-end job as a server in a god-awful coffee shop and sharing an apartment with his now best-friend-and-former-popular-girl, Sansa Stark.

To say that Sansa winding up as his best friend was a miracle would be disingenuous to miracles, and yet _here we are_.  Back then, Sansa Stark’s fall from grace in the eyes of the student populace had started when her boyfriend of the time, Joffrey, had spread rumours of her being ‘frigid’ in the twisted hope that peer pressure would win out and Sansa would finally relent and give in to his demands for whatever sick lusts it was he’d wanted to fill (Jon is pretty convinced that the little twat got a boner everytime he thought of drowning puppies or something). She’d refused to give in however, and held her head high above the taunts of ‘Ice Queen’, as the student body had coined her.

But then, she’d suffered her greatest tragedy, when a road slick with rain had claimed the lives of her family on one foul night, making the Ice Queen an orphan in one fell swoop. Her grades had dropped, she’d started snarking back at her elders and found herself in the previously alien landscape of detention, where she met Jon.

It wasn’t long after graduation that Jon’s mum finally revealed what it was that she’d been hiding from him for a good long while – she was sick. Not the kind of sick that gets better with pills and rest and visitors bringing you grapes at the hospital either. One year after Jon and Sansa left Winterfell High, Jon considered himself an orphan too.

“No,” Sansa replied to his sarcastic remark, appearing from around the corner to show off her outfit. She twirled around with her arms out at her sides, silently asking for his appraisal. Of course, he gave it in the form of a nod and some raised eyebrows – _let’s not go overboard with the praise, ay?_ “What I need to prove is that I’m still hot,” she frowned, pushing her hands onto her hips, “besides, I’m working on all that other stuff. I’m making real progress with my book and-“

“And you need to sell it to a publisher otherwise you’ll be stuck at selling everyone else’s books for the rest of your life.” Jon knew it was a bone of contention between Sansa and the fates. She worked part-time at Luwin’s, the local book store, and while being surrounded by literature that she loved, peppered within that were pages filled with what Sansa would refer to as ‘unoriginal crap bound in over exaggerated promises’. Needless to say, she envied those that managed to get published.

All this had led them to near enough cling to one another through life so far, even if it just seems as though they’d merely drifted together with happenstance and a good northerly breeze - a breeze that made sure they floated in the same direction. That ‘floating’ meant that they wound up being roommates in a tiny little apartment, where they struggled to pay bills and make rent – and where they currently have the heating shut off in the dead of winter because the back payments they owe make them both a little cross-eyed and queasy if they read all the final demand letters for too long.

“Thank you,” Sansa said through chattering teeth as Jon offers her a steaming hot mug of tea. She clasped the cup with both hands, hopping a little on her feet. Jon eyed her outfit again. A dress. A _pretty_ dress, of course. And yeah, he can objectively admit that Sansa Stark has definitely _‘still got it’_ in the looks department. All the guys would have killed for a chance to thaw the Ice Queen back then, and he’s in no doubt that they would think the same now - but that doesn’t help when it’s so cold in your kitchen that your breath comes out in huffs of cloud and you’re seriously worried about your eyeballs freezing over.

“You seriously going out in that?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Sansa looks down at herself and then adjusts the low neckline of the dress, “this is a good boob dress. The girls look great!” she says, cupping a breast briefly in each hand.

“I’ll give you that,” Jon nods, raising his mug a little in a salute of agreement to her boobs, “but you won’t care about that when your nipples turn blue and fall off. It’s fucking freezing _in here_ Sansa, let alone _out there_ ,” he gestures with his drink again, this time to the window.

“Look, I’m not even sure it’s medically possible to lose a nipple like that, and yet it would be totally worth it to flaunt what I got in the faces of all those idiots from school.”

“And what is it you have?” Jon asked, smiling into his slurp of coffee.

Sansa’s bravado suddenly waned, her eyes softened and began to look shot with worry. She straightened her posture as if awaiting a blow she’d need to prepare for. “I’m still pretty though, aren’t I? You’d do me, right?”

“Of course,” Jon said automatically, grabbing a dry bit of toast from his plate, “in a heartbeat sweetheart” he said through chewing with a nonchalant bob of his head.

“Oh good,” Sansa almost sighed in visible relief before she near jumped out of her skin when a car honked its horn outside. “That’ll be Theon,” she bounced excitedly, leaning forwards to grab Jon away from his hot drink and sad meal of toast, “come on let’s go!”

Theon Greyjoy could be described as many things, but right now in Jon and Sansa’s lives, he’s pretty much summed up as ‘convenient’. He also attended the same High School (all be it a couple of grades higher than they did) and rented the apartment situated below them. But more importantly, he owned a car – and they _did not_.

“Looking hot Ice Queen,” Theon whistled, bobbing his head in lecherous approval as he did a sweep up and down Sansa’s body. Sansa, for her part, looking somewhat pleased at the shoddy compliment – which pissed Jon off no end.

“Just shut up and drive, Greyjoy” Jon snapped in response, shivering as he slid into his usual place in the back seat, internally cursing Theon, this reunion, and Sansa for making him go.

Theon shook his head as he adjusted the rear-view mirror, perfectly framing the amusement in his eyes as he tutted back at Jon. “Is that anyway to talk to your chauffer? There better be a free bar at this shindig.”

“I don’t think so,” Sansa commented, pulling down the passenger seat sun-visor to make use of the mirror while applying her lipstick.

“Well, there’d better be some desperate drunk women ready to make a stupid mistake in the name of youthful nostalgia, or I’m calling it quits,” Theon responded as he pulled out into traffic.

*****

“Well that fucking sucked as predicted,” Jon grumbled as he fell back onto their couch. He’d spent most of the night reminding everyone they encountered who the hell he _actually was_ and asking them not to call Sansa by her nickname. Only one hour in and he had been ready to crack skulls and split lips for the way they oogled his friend. _Unworthy, the lot of ‘em,_ he’d seethed, _where were you when she was the victim of Joffrey’s lies? Where were you when she lost her family?_

“Eh,” Theon shrugged, sitting down next to him in the spot Sansa normally occupies, “I got a handy in the bathroom from some chick named Jeyne so all-in-all, I’d call it a success.”

Jon scowled at his neighbour. “Why are you here, exactly?”

“Why is your place so fucking freezing?!” Theon asked as he glanced around, rubbing his hands together and completely ignoring Jon’s question and accompanying death glare.

“Because we can’t afford the heating bill,” Sansa supplied as she offered Theon a hot drink.

Jon rarely resents his roommate’s impeccable manners and hospitality, but right now he was biting back the guttural growl building low in his belly. He wanted Theon gone. He wanted to get back to his normality – a normality that was just him and Sansa existing and getting by together. Fuck everyone else, they were fine in their little bubble by themselves, they look out for each other when no one else will. So what if they’re living on the breadline? Something will come up – he’ll work triple shifts at the coffee shop until she sorts out her book deal if he has to.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Theon curses, “I knew you guys were hard up, but this is ridiculous!” he shivered, huddling himself around the steaming cup cradled in his hands. “That Harry was giving you the eye tonight Sans,” he comments before taking a sip and then wincing at the heat burning his tongue. Jon’s stare of doom intensified. “You could bag yourself a sugar daddy there.”

“No she bloody well couldn’t!” Jon snapped, nostrils practically flaring. The suggestion smarted particularly because he knew it to be true. Harry – _and practically every straight man and a few of the women_ \- noticed Sansa wherever she was in that damned hall amongst the tacky party balloons, forced chit-chat and walks down memory lane. Any one of them would have hit the jackpot to be with his friend and none of them were worth the salt in her sweat when they would pull pitiful faces at hearing about her current career situation, or that she is so destitute she is forced to live with _that guy_ , Jon Snow.

Sansa looked to him with a pout on her lips and a frown on her brow. “Why couldn’t I get a sugar daddy?”

“Well, I mean…you _could_ , it’s just…you don’t _need_ to. We can figure out our finances. It’ll be alright.”

“Oh really?” She folds her arms and slumps back into the armchair, giving him a glare of her own, “well what do you suggest we do? Because I’d say we’re only about a week away until they shut off our power too.”

“The electric bill is due already?”

“Well we managed to pay off the September one but we’re getting those red final demand letters for the October and November bills and December is due to land on our doormat any moment…so what do you suggest we _do_ , Jonathan?”

“ _Shit_ ,” he huffed in defeat, falling back into the sofa cushions, “I could take up some more shifts at the coffee shop or-“

“And the money from those shifts won’t be in your pay packet for almost 2 months!”

Jon stared at Sansa with a tick in his jaw as he thought things through. Sansa might be able to increase her hours at the book store but she has the same timing predicament as he does. “Maybe….” he glances around at their little apartment, it may be freezing but it’s homely. It may not be much to most people, but it means the world to them. “…maybe we could sell something?”

“No one wants your collection of rocks, Jon.”

“First of all,” he starts, looking her in the eye and ignoring the fact the Theon seems to be enjoying watching their back and forth, “they’re _geodes_ …and secondly…I don’t have any rare or large pieces so yeah, you’re probably right.” He glances around desperately, “what about our kitchen table?” Jon asks, springing to his feet and advancing on the item of furniture in question, “you said it was _‘retro’_ …doesn’t crap like this sell for a pretty penny these days?... _’Vintage’_ and all that?”

“Jon,” Sansa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “it was a beat up old thing that I found on the side of the street! I only told you it was ‘retro’ so you’d stop promising me you’d buy something better...besides…the legs aren’t level.”

Jon stared at the offending item of furniture, reaching out to press his hands flat on the surface and give it an exploratory wobble. He frowned to himself and then bent to look beneath the table top. Sure enough, one of the legs was being propped up by a tin of tuna. _Why have I never noticed that before?_

“Do you know what does sell?” Theon piped up, making Jon whirl round with a new wave of irritation. “Sex.”

“Sansa is _not_ doing that!” he barked, disgusted. The very idea of men pawing at her to sate their own lusts making his blood boil and his hands curl into fists.

“No, not that,” Theon assures.

“Wh-“ Jon stutters, his mind whirring, “n-no one’s gonna pay for _me_ to-“

Jon scowled as Greyjoy barked out a laugh. “Whilst I agree with you there, Snow, that’s not what I was getting at…why don’t you film you two bumping uglies and put it on the internet?”

Both Jon and Sansa’s expression seem to match as they gape open-mouthed and wide-eyed at Theon and then to each other.

“Wait-“ their neighbour says, shaking his head in disbelief and gesturing to the both of them with arms that cross over each other, “have you two _never_ …?”

“No!” they yelp in unison.

Theon’s brow creases in utter confusion as if this were the most complicated riddle of all time. “But _why?”_ he turns to Jon, twisting in his seated position on their couch, “honestly mate, I thought you were tapping that on the regular-“ Sansa lets out a disgusted little cry and throws a decorative cushion at Theon’s head. He carries on, undeterred. “Why else would you be so fucking butt-hurt whenever she has a date?”

“Um, perhaps because she’s my _friend?_ And I can’t help it if she has the uncanny ability to be able to pick out the prick in any given room!”

“Hey!” Sansa squeaks indignantly, now throwing a cushion at Jon.

“Besides,” Jon says, catching the cushion and ignoring Sansa’s protest – the least amount of time dissecting her love-life, the better, “anyone can just put those kind of videos on the internet. Doesn’t mean they get paid.”

“Ah,” Theon grins, holding up a finger making Jon want to punch his smug little face, “but you have a ready-made target market right here,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket and retrieving a folded up wad of paper.

“What?” Jon and Sansa ask in unison.

Jon watched Theon unfold and smooth out what looks to be a printed list as he clenches his jaw and reminds himself that Sansa would kill him he bloodied their neighbour’s nose all over their sofa.

“While _you_ were busy flirting with every man in the vicinity tonight,” Theon points to Sansa, “and _you_ were trying hard not to mark your territory by pissing all over her-“ he indicates to Jon - _who really, really had to fight his urge to break Greyjoy’s jaw-_ “-and after I’d gotten my handy by the lovely Jeyne,” Theon continued, oblivious to the vein popping out of Jon’s forehead, “I snatched one of these,” he waved the pieces of paper in the air triumphantly.

“And that is?” Sansa asked.

“Email addresses of everyone from our school in your graduating year,” he smiled down at the list, “it’s for anyone who wants to _‘keep in touch’_ or some soppy bollocks. I only lifted it because I fancied _keeping_ in lovely Jeyne’s _touch_ , if you know what I mean?” he waggled his brows.

“Why on _earth_ would we want all those idiot’s email addresses?” Jon asked, completely bewildered.

Theon twisted in his seat once more, pointing at Jon with the paper in his hand. “You know, for a clever guy, you’re not that savvy.” He shook his head, “ _This_ list is who you sell your fuck tape to, numbnuts!”

“No-one’s going to want to see me and Jon…do _that_ ” Sansa offered, averting her eye when it caught with Jon’s.

Theon turned back to her, “are you _kidding_ me?! If any one of these people on this list told you that there’s a sex tape out there with them on it, you’d wanna see it, right?” he swung his head back and forth between them, utterly aghast that they weren’t responding. “ _People wanna see people they know fucking!...Christ!_ I hardly know anyone on this list and I’d pay to see them going at it!”

There were a few torturous moments of silence as Theon’s words echoed in the space between them, Jon staring at Sansa, Sansa blinking back at him, and Theon nearly bouncing with excitement.

“Think of it this way,” Greyjoy said, clearing his throat and trying to sound impassive as he flicked to the final page in his hands, “it says that there’s 800 email addresses on this list. Charge them each twelve dragons a pop and BINGO, you’ve made…” he starts twitching his head, his eyes fixing on the ceiling as he tries to do the maths.

“9600 dragons,” Jon supplies, eyes still intent on Sansa.

“There you go!” Theon exclaims, “and I bet all those horn-dogs would pay double to witness the ‘Ice Queen _coming_ for Snow’….wait….there’s a better pun in there somewhere…umm…The Ice Queen Cometh?...”

Theon starts spouting off different porn-style title suggestions but that all fades to background noise as Jon and Sansa share a long look of contemplation and he knows –he just _knows_ \- that she’s taking this suggestion seriously by the maddening way she’s chewing on her bottom lip as she stares back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look....Amy added another chapter...but wait...this one was only meant to be 2 chapters and now it's 3!
> 
> Yeah well...you should know by now that I can never keep my promises when it comes to fics ok?...I'll take myself to sit on the naughty step, thank you very much.
> 
> Also - I hope you like this Elizabeth!!!

“You really think we could just…just do _that?”_ Jon asks as he’s sorting through their mail the next day.

“It could work…we’re both adults,” Sansa shrugs, finishing off their hot drinks and bringing them over to the kitchen table. “It’s just sex, Jon. 9000 dragons could keep us going for quite a while, maybe even long enough for me to get my book deal-”

“If it’s that easy, then why isn’t everyone doing it?”

“Family…friends…they have people in their lives that they don’t want to disappoint.” Sansa looks away then, her voice had become faint and she began to worry her lip.

“Hey,” Jon gently taps the table top right in front of her to get her attention back to him,”I don’t want to disappoint you,” he says, holding her gaze, making a slow smile creep onto her face.

“You never do.”

Jon goes back to sorting through their mail, handing Sansa the odd envelope and grimacing at the ones which were clearly more bills they couldn’t afford. When he got to the bottom of the pile, there was one that was addressed only to him, with a curious three headed dragon franking mark in the top right-hand corner. He frowned down at the unknown letter and tucked it into yesterday’s newspaper that he was still reading through. He’ll deal with whatever that is later, right now he can barely think of anything else bar this hair-brained scheme of Theon’s. “Ok...say…say we do this…won’t it be… _weird_ between us?”

“Only if we allow it to be weird.” Sansa took a dainty bite from her toast, placing it back down on the plate as she chewed demurely and sucked the remnants of the lemon marmalade from her thumb. “Jon,” she swallowed and twisted in her seat to face him fully, “you’re my best friend, the only person I trust in the world. Will you…make a sex tape with me?”

An awkward smile spreads across Jon’s face at her proposal. “Well, when you put it like that… _Christ!”_ he curses, his brow furrowing at the predicament they find themselves in, “I can’t believe we’re going through with an idea of _Theon’s,_ of all people!”

“We’ll charge him triple,” Sansa grins.

*****

“Alright, so…uh…the camera’s set up in your room,” Jon says popping his head into the bathroom where Sansa is getting ready. She’s wearing a peach silk robe that lands just above her knee, her copper hair cascading down her back in soft waves. Jon swallows thickly, his eyes quickly skimming her up and down as he curses himself for instantly wondering what she has or hasn’t got on under the robe. “Just…um…whenever you’re ready.”

“Jon,” Sansa turns away from where had been assessing herself in the over-sink mirror, ”You’d do me, right?” she says, echoing her words from the reunion.

Jon smiles back at her – at his best friend, the only other person he has in this world. “In a heartbeat, sweatheart.”

“Ok,” Sansa nods, “let’s do this.”

Jon peered into the lens of his old video camera set up on Sansa’s chest of drawers. He made sure the little red light was on and promised himself that he’d edit out the huge close up of his nervous face looming over the opening shot.

Sansa stood behind him in her robe, the room having been warmed by the little electric heater that glowed in the corner. She had strung up some twinkling fairy lights on her headboard -a fact that should have made Jon snort, if he weren’t so tense right now- she’d also put fresh sheets on her bed; crisp white and dotted with little yellow daisies.

Jon straightened and turned to look at her after making sure her bed was perfectly framed in the shot. “You ok?” he asked, rubbing his hands down his sweatpants and feeling like an utter slob in comparison to Sansa.

She smiled and nod her head - a little too vigorously to be considered a natural reaction, but it’s what she’s offering him, so he’ll take it. “We should…um…can we kiss for a bit first? It would feel weird just… _you know_ ,” her eyes flit to the bed and then back to Jon.

“Yeah,” he said, licking his lips as he studied hers. She’d applied a faint coating of that balm she uses, it smells like coconut and has a very faint shimmery sheen to it. “We can…we can do that if you like.”

They both stand still like a pair of idiots in what Jon will later consider as one of his _‘top five most awkward moments’_. Neither one of them make a move, save staring at each other’s mouths and anxiously swallowing down their nerves.

Jon nearly asks, _yet again_ , if Sansa’s sure of this, if she wants to stop now, before everything may change between them. He opens his mouth, about to give voice to his thoughts when Sansa inches closer, a look of intent on her face.

And - _fuck it_ \- yeah, he has always wondered what it’d be like to kiss Sansa, even if those thoughts were fleeting and easily swept aside. Jon has long been a devotee of the little noises she makes when appreciating something delicious on her tongue – they’re _cute_ and sometimes a little _too_ suggestive for him to have completely platonic feelings about it. But now, now he’s imagining those very same sounds of approval stoking his masculine pride when he is the one to conjure them from the back of her throat instead of a lemon-cake or a hot cocoa.

He turns his body to face her fully as Sansa takes on the last paces towards him. Her hands stop twisting in the soft fabric of her robe, her arms falling away to her sides instead, allowing the silk to part a fraction, showing a slither of skin and a hint of the black lace beneath. Jon’s tongue darts out to roll over his lips of its own accord as his erratic heart thuds excitedly with every step she takes.

He’s incredibly thankful for just how brave she is when Sansa initiates the first touch. Both her hands coming up to be softly placed above his stomach making the muscles twitch beneath the material of his t-shirt. She’s touched him before - _of course she has_ \- but this is much, _much_ more than the way she hugs him sometimes, or the way she’ll drape her legs over him while they watch TV. This is…this is leading somewhere and Jon’s not entirely sure if he’ll be able to be led _back_.

Her palms smooth around the trunk of him to his sides as she moves closer, _closer_ , her head tilting just so. A daze hits him at the very same moment that her fragrance does, heady and floral with just a hint of spice. Jon can’t help but lick at his lips again when her eyes flutter closed, and he realises it’s _his_ turn to _do something_ , lest he balls this whole thing up right from the start.

Leaning in and then pausing, his eyes hooked on the pink of her mouth where he watches her lips part a tiny amount, just enough to encourage him on. The first brush of his lips to hers is soft, tentative, slow and yet over far too quickly. Jon rubs his own lips together, tasting the coconut of her balm. He blinks open his eyes to search hers, his gaze drops to where her teeth sink into her bottom lip – a gesture that he takes as encouraging if nothing else and so he presses his mouth to hers once more and gently curls a hand around her upper arm.

It’s still too hesitant to be named sensual just yet, and still too stiff to be called arousing. But Jon marvels for just a moment at how _easy_ and _right_ it feels to have Sansa’s lips on his, to have her mouth yield under his gentle press. He holds her carefully, one hand at the side of her neck, fingers splayed over her cheek and slid under her ear into the heavy thickness of her hair as his thumb soothes her jaw. The other hand rubbing soft circles into her hip.

His tongue slips past the seam of her lips and Sansa greats it with a quiet noise of encouragement that hums from her chest. She slides her own hands up his body and into his hair, her nails lightly scratching at his scalp sending tingles down his spine. She pulls him close, pressing against him so he’s keenly aware of every soft curve she’s allowing him to know.

Breaking away, Sansa sighs something close to his ear. Jon doesn’t so much as hear the words as the sound, too busy putting his mouth to task at trailing kisses along her jaw and neck. She giggles and not for the first time, the sound goes straight to his cock, although this would the only time he’s welcomed and encouraged the effect. Sansa huffs and tugs lightly at his hair, trying to get his attention back from where he’s nosing away the robe from the slope of her shoulder.

“Jon,” she urges, “Jon,” her voice a scratch louder, the grip on his hair a fraction tighter. He blinks up at her, abandoning his quest to lap and suck at her collarbone to see her dilated eyes instead.

“Huh?” he whispers, a little drunk from her skin, a swoop of apprehension whooshing in his belly. “If you don’t want to-“

“We’re not in the shot.”

“What?”

“The camera,” she hisses softly, an amused curve to the edge of her lips, “it can’t see us.”

Jon twists to glance dumbly at the offending piece of technology that he’d temporarily forgotten about. “Uh…yeah,” he flushes, realising that they are, in fact, completely out of the shot. He looks back at her, at how she’s still in his arms and at just how natural it feels for her to be there. “We should, um…” he shuffles backwards awkwardly, trying to bring her with him and gaining another giggle from her. Sansa pushes out of his arms and Jon fights the curious petulant whine that gets stuck in his throat. He frowns at himself, not sure why he’s so keen all of a sudden – and then his puzzlement vanishes into thin air when Sansa lets her silk robe slip from her shoulders and puddle at her feet.

“We should probably just…” she gestures to the bed, her cheeks turning the prettiest shade of pink as all Jon can do is gape and blink at the sheer expanse of soft Sansa skin displayed for him.

It’s strange really; he’s seen her in bikinis, he’s used to the length of her legs when she wanders around in one of his old t-shirt cast-offs she likes to wear to bed…but this…this is _for him_.

Jon bites back the urge to scowl at himself. _It’s not for you, you idiot, it’s for the camera._ He swallows the lump in his throat and nods absentmindedly, not really remembering what it is he’s agreeing to. Sansa reaches back to unhook her bra before the black lacy straps get pulled down her arms and the garment hits the floor. _And ok, yeah_ \- he hasn’t seen _those_ before, so the whimper that escapes him is totally called for, even if he does curse himself a little bit for it.

Sansa rubs her lips together shyly before climbing onto the bed and settling on her back. “Jon?” she asks, reaching out for him to join her.

His knee barely gets to sink into her mattress when he notices her frown. “What is it?”

“You’ve still got your clothes on.”

“Oh…oh yeah,” Jon flushes, standing back up to hastily remove the offending barriers of cloth. He likes the way Sansa smiles up at him as she watches his clothing quickly become a pile on the floor. His heart hiccups and his cock twitches when he spies her lick at her lips as she’s eying his tight grey boxer-briefs that he knows he’s beginning to strain against.

Crawling over Sansa and settling above her, Jon is acutely aware of every inch of her skin that touches his. She runs her hands up and down his arms as if to comfort him and widens her legs a little so he can comfortably settle between them. She feels so good and warm beneath him that he wonders why he’d let it go for so long since he’s last had a woman this way. But no, it feels _better_ than that; _better_ than any of his scarce one-night stands, and _better_ even than when he had been dating Ygritte. _Why is that?_ They’re not actually _doing anything_ yet and Jon’s whole body feels more alive than it ever has been – like a firework with a lit fuse, fizzing away before the bang and crackle of the main event.

“Kiss me some more,” Sansa whispers and Jon ducks down to oblige. He feels hyper-aware of her hands leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake as she skims them up his back and shoulders in encouraging strokes. Sansa lets out the first of her little breathy sighs that he loves once Jon breaks their kiss to suckle beneath her ear. He meets her with a barely tempered groan when she arches her back to push her breasts against him. Sansa’s movements and encouragements are small, _inconsequential_ , and yet mean _everything_ to Jon at the same time. Is this what it’s like to care so much about the person you’re intimate with? Not that Jon thinks he falls under the ‘inconsiderate lover’ label, but this…this feels…different.

He supposes it must be due to the fact that it’s _Sansa_ – the person that matters the most to him in the world right now. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, and he especially doesn’t want to fuck this up _on camera._

Just then, Sansa hooks one of her devilishly long legs over his hip and begins to roll her body against his, making him hiss into the crook of her neck.

A thought materialises before him, giving him pause. They’d discussed the practical and clinical aspects of this endeavour; he’s still amazed that Sansa suggested foregoing the use of a condom – they’re both aware that they’re clean and she’s no stranger to birth control. But what had not been raked over were their actions. What exactly would she be comfortable with him doing?

In truth, he hadn’t really anticipated wanting to touch and kiss her _so much_. He hadn’t thought to prepare for the overwhelming urge to latch his mouth over her nipple or the desire he now felt to slip his hand down between her thighs, to feel the wet silk of her arousal coat his fingertips…or his tongue.

He rubbed himself against the lace-clad heat he was now so acutely aware of, watching as her breath hitched in her throat and her eyes fluttered closed. “Where can I touch you?” Jon ducked down to whisper, leaving a little peck of a kiss below her lobe.

“Anywhere,” Sansa shivered, licking her lips.

Tentatively, Jon covered a breast with one hand, all the while watching Sansa’s face for further confirmation. She granted him the minutest of nods, hardly detectable by the blinking red light of the camera that was on them. He cupped her more securely, more sure of himself, and of her. The soft weighty curve fit perfectly within his gentle squeeze and he delighted in the little sigh of encouragement that fell from her lips once the pad of his thumb brushed over her hardening teat.

Ducking down Jon gently nosed over Sansa’s breast, moving to hover over her nipple where he began to suck and lick at her, enjoying the way she arched her back, pushing her chest up into him as if she wanted more.

Jon’s hand stroked down her ribs to the dip of her waist and then the flare of her hips and back up again. He repeated the motion a few times before daring to inch between them, over her flat stomach where he felt her twitch under his palm. Releasing her nipple, Jon planted sloppy kisses up to her ear, whispering “can I touch you here?” as his fingers ghosted over the lace on her mound.

“Yes,” Sansa breathed, her eyes closed as she trembled a little. Jon hoped the reaction was from eager anticipation and not fear or anxiety – the thought that he would induce such an emotion in her made him queasy.

“Look at me Sansa,” he asked in a gentle whisper, searching that Sansa-shade-of-blue once her eyes had opened. “Only if you want me to.”

“I want you to.”

Giving a nod, Jon pressed his lips to hers, leaving promises in his kiss. He wanted to make this as good for her as he possibly could – and not to ‘look good’ for the camera, because honestly? _Fuck those people on that damned email list_ – he’s not concerned with any of them. The only person in the world that matters to Jon Snow right now was the woman whose tongue was sliding against his, whose hands gripped his shoulders, whose throat just let out a warm honey kind of moan that made Jon’s hips buck against hers involuntarily.

Jon stroked her over her underwear as their kisses start to make him feel a little dizzy. Sansa’s hot and wet under his touch, so wet that she’s soaked her fine black lace – knowing this makes him feel a little dizzy too. “You’re so wet,” he breathes into her lips, not meaning for the words to come out, but unable to hold them back. Sansa stops kissing him and bites down on her lip, her cheeks colouring the most glorious shade of cherry blossom pink. She looked worriedly up at him and Jon almost laughs as he realises that of all things, she’s embarrassed about her own arousal. He can’t have that. He _won’t_ have that.

“I like it,” he whispers into her ear before scraping his teeth over her lobe and revelling in the shudder he feels roll through her. His fingertips edge under the waistband of her underwear and he slips them lower, lower, lower, skimming over a small amount of hair until he finds her hot and silky. Jon is unable to deter the groan that escapes him and fans across the side of her neck, and now it’s his turn to be embarrassed at how wanting and needy the noise had made him sound.

Sansa sucks in a breath when he presses his fingertips to her clit. The noise, short and sharp, and exciting. “Is that good?” Jon whispers into her neck before pecking little kisses to her skin. Jon can feel the bob of her throat beneath his lips as she swallows and nods her head. Sansa lets out a shaky breath, her eyes closed as he hips begin to move with his circular caresses.

Sooner than Jon would have liked, Sansa reaches between them, attempting to pull her underwear down until Jon shifts, allowing her to shimmy the lace down her long, long legs. Jon’s surprised to realise that if it were up to him, he would have gladly explored her further, watched her intently as he stroked and rubbed and got his fingers inside her. Not that he was at all disappointed to have Sansa completely naked beneath him – a fact that still confused him – but he’d been keen to take his time, relish in the noises he might conjure from those sweet lips.

“Take these off,” Sansa murmured, her fingers tickling along the waistband of his boxers. Jon obliged, feeling a little boost to his ego when her eyes briefly widened, licking along her lips as she homes in on where he sprang free. Jon lowers himself for more kisses, suddenly finding that he’s hungry for her lips. Before he’s had much time to think about anything at all, Sansa snakes a hand down between them and wraps around his cock, hard and wanting. He bucks into her touch and groans like an inexperienced horny teen into her mouth. He barely has time to break away from her with a gasp before she’s aligned him perfectly and he’s slipping into the welcoming heat of her cunt. _“Fuck!”_ he curses through clenched teeth at the same time that she lets slip the most suggestive _‘Oh!’_ to ever have been uttered.

 _“Christ!”_ Jon hisses when Sansa wraps her legs around his waist, the new angle taking him in deeper. _“You’re so fucking tight”_ he winces, partly at the words, not wanting to embarrass her the way he had done before, and partly because it was true. “Fucking hell,” Jon mutters to himself, burying his face into her hair and nuzzling behind her ear as he begins his shallow, experimental thrusts.

Besides the intense feeling of pleasure at where they are now joined, Jon feels a blissful shiver run down his spine when Sansa starts peppering his neck and jaw with little encouraging kisses, her hands sweeping up and down the rolling muscles of his back. The satisfied sounding hum that echoes from her chest like a contented cat’s purr is enough to make him thrust a little harder, a little faster. He’d like to hear that noise again.

Their breathing rapidly becomes ragged pants into each other ears, the sound of it filling Jon’s head and leaving room for little else. He likes that he can induce such a reaction from her, thoughts of other possible reactions exciting him greatly, urging his hips on to snap against her and pluck those little whimpers and gasps.

“ _Oh… Jon!”_ Sansa pants with her face turned into the side of his neck and her hands gripping tightly at his shoulders as he moves within her. And _that_ does it. He can feel his release nearing the more and more he focusses on her jagged breaths and little sighs of pleasure. _God! I’m gonna come if she keeps moaning my name like that._

Quite suddenly, Jon makes a decision, pulling out to start issuing sloppy wet kisses to the side of her face, down her neck and between her breasts as he descends lower and lower.

Sansa had gasped when he’d abruptly left his place between her legs. She’d whined and wiggled as he licked and kissed his way down her body. “Jon?” she asked, confused.

“I’m _really_ not going to last long if we carry on like that,” Jon murmured into her navel before travelling lower towards his intended destination. “ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters to himself when he finally gets a look at the neatly trimmed dark copper hair crowning her cunt. Sansa’s delighted little squeal and the taste of her on his tongue at the first swipe have him cursing once more. “ _Fucking hell_ , this is going to help either,” he half grumbles as he goes in for another greedy lick, eagerly lapping up her arousal.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Sansa groans contentedly as her head falls back onto the pillow and she pushes her chest into the air making Jon think that _yes_ , it _is_ entirely possible that he comes from just eating her out alone.

He tries desperately not to rut against the bed like some kind of animal, but _God damn it_ – if he’d known Sansa Stark _tasted_ this good, _smelt_ this good, and sounded this _wonderful_ when she’s like this, he doesn’t think he’d ever leave his position between her legs again.

“ _Oh fuck!”_ Sansa gasps with her hips raising off the bed when he begins suckling and slurping on her clit. Her hands fly to his hair where she twists her fingers tightly into his locks, holding him in place.

_Fuck yes, sweetheart! Use me._

It doesn’t take long until Sansa starts rocking her pelvis, rubbing herself against his attentions, making Jon groan with approval into her sensitive flesh – which, in turn, makes her whimper and rock harder, faster.

With the loveliest rendition of his name Jon has ever heard spilling out from her lips, Sansa tenses and shudders under him for a beat or two until she sinks back into her bed. Boneless and panting as Jon lazily continues to lap at her until she’s forced to shove at his head.

“I want you inside me again,” Sansa whines and Jon’s not about to be told twice, so he scrambles back up to her.

The wet heat of her cunt surrounds him again when he enters her swiftly, her legs coming up to wrap around his hips. “ _Fuck, Sansa_ ,” he hisses between clenched teeth, his eyes clamped shut as he focusses on trying not blow his load in two seconds flat. “You feel _so good_ sweetheart.”

“Mmmm, you do too,” Sansa humms, moving in time with his slow thrusts.

Jon takes her mouth again, desperate to be joined with her in any and all ways as he rocks, rocks, rocks into her, over and over with Sansa meeting his movements under him. It just feels so incredibly good and right and _fuck_ , why have they not been doing this all these years? Why has he never told her that he…that he-

“Jon,” Sansa pants as she breaks away from his mouth, “I think I could come again,” she whispers into the shell of his ear, “will you come with me?”

All he can do is nod and bury his face into her neck and hair as his hips continue their rolling, their bodies undulating together like gentle waves of an ever-increasing restless sea.

Jon focusses in on listening to Sansa’s breathing. It will all be over if he allows himself to take notice of anything else – such as the cant of her hips becoming more needy or the way he thinks he can feel her begin to flutter around him. Her breaths are broken, jagged puffs of heat against the side of his neck and for a while he is able to match his gait with their steadily increasing desperation. It all goes to shit however, when she starts whispering, _begging_ with words as sweet as they are filthy. _“Please Jon…Oh Gods! … Make me come…Please!”_ She pleads to him like he somehow has the answer, the key to the thing he wants most. _“I’m close! I’m close! ... Come with me!”_ she whispers frantically against his beard until all there is is a gasp and the woman he loves pulled taut beneath him as he jerks and grunts and holds onto his breath. He pants at the realisation that the beat his heart skips belongs to Sansa and Sansa alone just before he’s lost all coherent thought to the white light of pleasure that bursts behind his eyelids. The watching camera completely forgotten.

 

 

 


End file.
